


Passion Play

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Hannibal is fiendishly oral, I apologize in advance, Manipulation, Oral Sex, porn no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: Hannibal loves to manipulate Bedelia when she is at her most vulnerable, even when he is the one on his knees.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier & Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 57





	Passion Play

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request for a Twitter friend who loves this pair. . . special thanks to this Bebe for supporting my work which means so so so much.

Sliding a scarlet lipstick back into its shiny tube, Bedelia feels lasciviously satisfied for no apparent reason.

In the large mirror, her reflection softly smacks painted lips together.

Hannibal watches from the bed. His keen attention could potentially explain the slight flutter in Bedelia’s belly.

“What is it about red on you?” He asks, but his question is clearly rhetorical. Putting his hands behind his head, crossing one foot over the other, he observes her shimmy into the dress she picked for the evening. It’s short, fitted, and made of crimson satin. “Perhaps I enjoy the optical illusion of you engulfed in fire,” he muses. Bringing the garment up over her delicate, black undergarments, Bedelia rolls her eyes at him in the mirror, but he continues. “Mmh, yes, all those savage flames, licking your body. And your eyes are the blue in the very center of the flame. I do like that image, indeed.”

Bedelia adjusts the straps on her shoulders and takes a leisurely sip of champagne prior to saying, “It occurs to me that if I am to burn in an eternal pit for my part in your passion play, Hannibal, then you will most certainly be there, thrashing about in hell with me.”

“Ah, I would not miss it for the world,” his lips stretch in a lazy smile. Bedelia glances away from his reflection and spritzes some perfume he’d recently purchased her in the air. It falls in a cool mist of amber and vanilla on her shoulders.

“Speaking of passion plays,” her nose twitches at the gourmand notes of a fragrance she’d not have chosen herself, “I believe it would be highly inappropriate for me to arrive at the opera half dressed. Would you mind zipping me up?” She strides to the bed and he rises to assist her, but instead of zipping her dress, he caresses her exposed back. She has swept her platinum hair up into a twist, baring her neck for him to rub his face against. 

“No bra? Bedelia you are shameless.”

“The dress is tight enough that I don’t need one,” she glances over her shoulder to find his eyes closed, nostrils flared. He grazes his nails over her scapula, slips both his hands down and fits them snugly over her ass. It’s an odd angle, but he manages to give her a little pinch, prior to sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her back against him. He works a finger in the side of her thin panties, and fondles the silky bundle beneath.

“You smell like heaven,” his breath beats in hot puffs on her neck. She can practically hear his stomach growl with huger for her, can feel his arousal against her hip, but he is utterly unhurried. His touch is completely languid. Against her better wishes, she relaxes her head on his chest.

“I don’t think we have time for this, Hannibal.” They both know she protests weakly.

“Be good,” he croons into the shell of her ear. “And maybe, if you do what I want, you won’t end up in a pit of flames.” He removes his hands from the inside of her dress and brings them to the hem, yanks the garment in one rough, neat motion over her hips. Turning her quickly, he walks her back to the bed and positions her on the edge.

Knowing he enjoys his tableau, she allows him to position her hands on either side of her hips, allows him to spread her knees shamefully wide. He lets her decide how to comfortably plant her feet in their four-inch, red heels on the carpet. One toes out and one toes in, just ever so slightly, to help her balance.

He’s left her panties on, and she wonders what he plans to do about this, but he does not allow her to wonder for long. From the pocket of his gray, lambswool slacks, he extracts a small, leather packet. When he unfolds the parcel, a metallic flash widens Bedelia’s eyes. Sinking to his knees between her thighs, he brings the surgical scalpel to the crotch of her panties. He looks up from under golden lashes and says, “Stay still now, won’t you?”

Bedelia’s breath hitches as he pulls the material of her underwear out ever so slightly so he can slice it down the middle in one tidy cut. She feels the chill of the steel instrument on the inside of her leg like it breathes icy breath. Her skin ripples with gooseflesh.

Hannibal blinks impassively, but she knows he’s delighted by his work. He looks away only briefly and places the scalpel on the bedside table, then returns his attention to Bedelia, who swallows hard to maintain composure. Placing a hand on either side of the cut cloth, Hannibal pulls, tearing it open to expose the peachy flesh of Bedelia’s pussy. “There we are,” he murmurs.

Bedelia’s perfectly painted lips open in a gasp of surprise and arousal. He’s not even touched her yet and already she’s gushing, surging, feeling the insane manner in which he turns her inside out and rattles everything she possibly contains. She feels her brow knit together with the effort it takes to close her mouth, to not lift her hips off the bed toward his lips, toward the forked tongue she knows spreads the honey of damnation all over her. As much as she does not want him to know how chaotic he’s caused her to feel, she knows he does. He knows and he loves it.

The first lick is always the best. He also knows this and he makes her wait a bit for it. He makes a bit of a show as he rubs his lips together, preparing to dazzle her with the electric display of what he can do, the illusion he can create, what he can force to occur. Her own body is a strange shell, fairly imperious to most things, but Hannibal makes her feel. He softens her edges, lends her a heartbeat she can actually hear.

Rapt, her fingers tighten on the edge of the mattress, as his tongue emerges from between his lips, pink and shiny with saliva. She jumps a bit as he spreads her open just a bit wider so he can touch the tip of his tongue directly to the bead of her clit. He’s grinning as he does it, as he flexes his long, oral muscle so it can spear and circle her just there. “Ohhhhh,” she exhales and it is no more than the sound inside a seashell. 

Hannibal laps up the full length of her slit and moans against her, then he sits back on his haunches like a large creature, purely bred from mythology. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you, Bedelia?”

She knows she must nod or he will not continue, so she inhales through her nose and tips her head slightly.

“Such a harlot, in your red dress and torn panties, spread so open.” He leans forward and nuzzles the insides of her legs and then sniffs her. “Yes, you need it very badly. Look how wet you are. We shall have to call down to room service to have them change the sheets after you finish, mmmh? I think it will not take very long at all tonight, although it never usually does when you are like this? Does it?”

She knows she must acknowledge his query in order for him to continue. Compliance is an act she must commit herself to performing. She shakes her head. Content with her response, Hannibal resumes his attention to the area exposed between the torn, black silk which is now soaked with her musky juices.

The world starts to blur, just as she likes it, as he passes his tongue over her in hypnotic rhythm. She attempts to stay perfectly still. In reward for her motionless obedience, he leaves not an inch of her untasted. She’s always been shocked by how ravenously he consumes her, like an inferno, ready to reduce her to nothing but ash in his wake. He is a god who demands her feverish worship in return for a peek at ecstasy. God of destruction and many little deaths. _That_ is his role in the play they perform.

Pretending makes her burn with anger and anger makes her want to take her pleasure with a thundering curtain call.

“Say it, Bedelia. Tell me what I am,” Hannibal pauses and looks up at Bedelia from where he kneels between her legs.

“I’d prefer not,” she whispers, and in an uncharacteristic act of defiance, she uses both hands on either side of his head to bring his mouth back to where it was previously sucking her. For a moment, he licks contentedly. Bedelia scratches his scalp lightly and breathes in deeply through her nose. Tensing her legs, she attempts to bring herself off quickly, to beat Hannibal at his own game.

But he senses what she’s doing and chuckles against her. The heated, wet vibration of his laugh almost causes her to climax right then, and possibly would have had he not broken away from her. She disappoints herself by letting out a little whimper.

“Yet, I’d prefer to hear you say it,” Hannibal says. He teases her slit with two fingers, then tickles either side of her excruciatingly aroused labia.

“You are depraved,” she scoffs.

“Oh, come now. That’s not it. That’s not what I want to hear.”

“Why bother to utter words we both know are lies?” She asks.

“Because flirting with lies is fun, Bedelia.”

She’s tempted to bring her own fingers down and finish herself. She’s _boiling_. She could stand, yank her dress down over her hips and strut into the bathroom to touch herself to completion. It would take barely any time at all. Or she could roll over onto her stomach on the bed, thrust a pillow between her legs and be done with this sordid game. Hannibal could watch. It would infuriate him, and he would love it. Thinking about it creates a fresh wave of slick on her. With her knees wide as they are, it does not escape Hannibal’s attention. Raising his eyebrows, he slips two fingers into her and wiggles them. Bedelia’s body responds by clenching around his digits almost against her will.

She knows he’s not what he wants her to say. He simply wants her to say it. He wants to hear it spill like icy champagne from between her fiery lips.

Bedelia offers him a look of pale indifference, but he knows better. He’s always known better. He might be the one on his knees, but he has Bedelia completely at his mercy. 

He feels need pulse between her legs, probes her, measures her desire with medical precision and a wolfish grin. “Say it for me or you won’t get any more,” he coos, silky as a dove. “And I can tell you need it, badly.” He takes his fingers from inside of her and rubs the tendons of her thighs. Her sigh is long and perturbed; she does not hide her annoyance. It’s part of the dance sequence. Her resistance arouses him. Gently, with almost no pressure at all, she glides her heeled foot over the length in his trousers.

At this whisper of a touch, Hannibal blinks slowly and sucks his lips into his mouth.

She’s always known he could never be more than a figure behind a veil, but he is right. He’s always been right. It is fun to lie. Eyeing the bulge in his pants, she breathes, “You are my one true love, Hannibal.”

Satisfied, he presses his lips back against her, thrusts his tongue up into her and allows her to writhe against him. Bedelia catches a flash of gold as his hands move to unbuckle his own pants, and he removes his cock. He almost never touches himself in front of her, and seeing him do it now takes her breath away. She has to fight off her orgasm as she watches him slide back his foreskin and rub his thumb around his head. He holds himself in his fist, barely moving but constricting his fingers around his shaft and tickling that sensitive spot under his tip as he fucks away at Bedelia with his tongue and fingers of his other hand. She clenches tight around him, trying to hold back, wanting to wait for him, but he won’t allow it. He drives her over the edge while she watches his perfectly tapered fingers grip himself.

The first jolt unnerves her with its intensity. She bites her bottom lip, mashing her teeth into the thick coat of ruby lipstick. “Stop now, _stop_ ,” she gasps as she spirals in waves of helpless pleasure bordering on pain. It is enough; she does not need any more. But he does not stop. He continues at her like an animal- much more feral than pure bred now- and she can barely remain seated as he opens his entire mouth over her and presses his teeth on her most delicate flesh. He mouths her wildly, and then uses the flat fronts of his teeth to apply pressure to her throbbing bud, which continues to want for him and gives it up again, this time with a gush of liquid that spurts out of her and drips down his chin. He puts three fingers into her and curls them against the top of her inner wall and elicits a long, low, breathy “Aaaahhh, Hannibal,” from her. He milks himself in tandem with the driving beat of her cunt as she cums a third and final time at the sight of him spilling in his own hand. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ,” she pants, feeling she might never breathe properly again.

Together, they burn in the hell they have made with one another. It is as much, or maybe even more, than their ink-black hearts deserve.

Bedelia collapses on the bed. Her head finds the soft stack of pillows and she catches her breath. When she moves to pull her dress back down, Hannibal tuts. “No, leave it as it is,” he suggests.

“And why would I do that,” Bedelia contests.

“I don’t think you’ve ever looked as beautiful as you do at this moment,” Hannibal says. He stands and makes quick work of finding a towel with which to clean himself. Bedelia watches as he tucks himself away, his face painted smooth with sated bliss. He glances at the clock. “Plenty of time to still make it to the opera,” he states.

“If we are to attend the opera, I will have to adjust my dress and fix my lipstick,” Bedelia says with a half smile.

“Pity that,” Hannibal says. He pours himself a glass of wine and takes it out to the balcony. Bedelia sighs. Her head is thick with champagne and post coital hormones, but she cannot deny Hannibal has a certain charm about him, even as he drags her to the depths of hell.


End file.
